


Tell Me I’m Wrong

by sm_a_rt



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Trust, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Thor, Panic Attacks, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Stephen, Protective Tony, Slow Burn, Stephen Strange has an Eating Disorder, Stephen's a Ball of Stress, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Takes Care of Stephen, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-14 20:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15396771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sm_a_rt/pseuds/sm_a_rt
Summary: Stephen Strange just moved to New York. Part of him feels like it’s a fresh start- an opportunity to start over. However, the other part of him feels like he’s just running away from his issues.Tony Stark is under the care of his abusive and alcoholic father, constantly out of the house and finding ways to not provoke him. He’s constantly on his toes and desperately needs to get out.When school starts up, neither boy is prepared for what to come. They become rivals, striving to do better than the other. However, when one of them breaks down because of the stress, maybe the other finds that they’re actually quite alike.This story is about two boys struggling with themselves and their identities, finding comfort in each other despite their rough beginnings.





	1. Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is pretty much to just set up the base of the story. Consider it a prologue. 
> 
> In this chapter, there will be mentions of: Eating Disorders, Panic Attacks, Alcohol Abuse, GAD, PTSD Flashbacks, and Child Abuse.
> 
> If you are triggered or offended by any of those things, my work isn’t for you, and I suggest you click away! If not, enjoy, for this story is ongoing and I try to post as often as I can!

Stephen Vincent Strange could not catch a break. Gazing beyond the car’s slightly tinted windows, back seat driving through the open farmland, he longed for the open plains and looked at them as if they were his only love. He wished for nothing more than to escape; to somehow maneuver his way out of the car, rolling into a patch of green grass only to begin to sprint.

To run and to never stop running. 

The mountains would be his goal. The ones who’s silhouettes lined the border between land and sky. They were temptresses, guiding him towards their navy frames. They looked cool in contrast to the burning air where Stephen sat. It was thick like ash and as hot as magma in the car; he sat burning up besides the body heat of his little brother, Victor, who was sound asleep. 

Despite the car being filled to the brim with luggage for their move to New York, it felt empty. It was absent of something; something that Stephen felt a need to be there.  
Something... someone who has seemingly disappeared.

“Don’t think about it.” Stephen whispered in his mind, the walls of his thoughts not echoing the phrase anymore than that.

“It’s not your fault.” Voices rang next through his ideas, much louder. Familiar voices -not Stephen’s- penetrated through walls the boy had built up.

They always told him that, but he knew that they were wrong. It was his fault and it was cowardly to assume it wasn’t. Guilt rose from the pit of his stomach and his face unintentionally grew white. It wasn’t quite fear and it wasn’t quite anxiety; more like both... but it was worse than that.

He was running away from something he shouldn’t, and he knew that, but he didn’t stop his legs from moving.

“Focus.” His mind scolded him, his own brash voice this time reverberating off his skull. He couldn’t trust his own voice when it told him to swim, so why should he listen to his voice now? Nonetheless, he did. Be it his arrogance or insanity, he did. He focused on the mountains and their snowy white peaks, the trees and how their leaves danced in the near-autumn’s breeze, the creek. The water. The flow. The current. The splashing. The mistake-

He shook himself out of thought. He was sure that if he continued his head would explode with pressure. It was light on his neck and getting lighter, his vision hazing with every road sign that passed. His fingers caressed the glass that kept him and the outside from connecting; his weak attempt to soothe his mind and to keep his vision from hazing. He wanted to sleep. No, truly, he needed to sleep, and what he really wanted to do was vomit. His thoughts no longer swirled in a whirlwind of guilt, confusion, and pain, as his mind was soon occupied by the intense wave of nausea that befell him. He instinctively looked to his parents in the front seat, knowing his brows were upturned and his mouth twisting into a frown in a low plead without saying anything. 

They didn’t notice, yet Stephen had no desire for them to. As their faces became no longer discernible, turning into nothing but colorful blobs, his green eyes began to tear up. But his cry wouldn’t last long. As the colors faded into grays, an overwhelming color took over Stephen’s vision-

Black. 

Across the plains and over the foothills, civilization flourished into what was now known as New York. Bustling streets overflowed with people, many of which tourists carrying heavy bags of newly bought clothes or merchandise. Pigeons flocked over crumbs left behind from food truck hotdogs and the overwhelming scent of car exhaust flowed freely between each building and over every block. Many people would complain about it; complain about the pollution, the overcrowding, the prices- but to Anthony Edward Stark, it was all so intoxicating. 

In a left foot-first stride, Anthony kept a steady pace down the pavement, avoiding any contact with the strangers that made their way down in the opposite direction. He held himself with false confidence; his pride never allowed him to show his distress. He kept his shoulders tense and head down, however. It was subconscious, and if he’d realized it, he’d slap himself for showing any form of weakness. 

Weeds grew between cracks in the sidewalk, little green leaves and grasses protruded accompanied by ripe dandelions. The weeds were probably the only natural life that grew there, besides the preserve that was Central Park. It was almost admirable, how life found a way to weave itself between societies cracks, but to Tony, the attempt to grow was pathetic. He didn’t bother to watch his step, crushing weeds under his sneakers. 

In a way, he related to those weeds.

He didn’t have a destination in mind, he was merely walking to clear his mind. Well, that’s what he was telling himself anyway. In reality, he was on the run. He needed to be as far away from home as possible. Scratch that, it wasn’t that he wanted to be far from his home, he just wanted to be far, far away from his father. It was just that his father happened to be at home, so he assumed, in a sense, he needed to be far from home. 

So, he walked at a fast pace, his mind racing his feet in an uphill battle to bring him to the brink of exhaustion. He felt his lungs contract. His air intake reduce to practically nothing. As his vision started to fade, he gripped his swaying body onto a park bench that he was so glad was there to aid him. He sat, his right arm curving under the thin, metal armrest as his hand tightened its grip. He held onto it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling into a deep chasm with no chance of survival. He felt his breath hitch with every inhale and his heart beat out of his chest.

It didn’t help that he knew people were staring at him in the midst of his panic. Muffled “Are you alright”s and “is he okay”s ripples through his ears, their voices soft and gurgled as if he was underwater. 

It took him awhile to compose himself. What felt like an eternity of suffering was nothing more than 10 minutes. When he came to, out of his emotional coma where he was still aware of everything but could do absolutely nothing, he noticed that his right hand twitched in his lap- the last tremor of panic. He could finally breathe easy, his lungs no longer plotting against him. The first breath was bittersweet, and all that followed only seemed natural. 

He lifted himself from his seat and looked around to see if anyone was still staring, only to then take off in the direction he came. He was walking back for some godforsaken reason. Probably because he missed his bed and desperately needed a rest after his attack, but more likely to raid his father’s liquor cabinet and drown his pain away. 

He ended up doing both, finding himself locked in his room with empty bottles surrounding his bed, passed out in a pile of pillows that, if he were conscious, would be named “Tony’s Fort”. Even drunk, his architectural and mechanical prowess shone through in his placement of the pillows. 

Meanwhile, Stephen Strange and family had arrived at their destination. An apartment complex where their housing would be located on the first floor. It was relatively cheep, seeing as though the Strange family wasn’t necessarily rolling in money, but it would work. 

Stephen dragged his bags inside, finding his room deep into the apartment, beside his brother’s room and what seemed an impossibly small bathroom. His bedroom was already furnished, a twin bed in the center of the room, against a window that lead to the street outside. The only thing dividing his room and the road was a beat-up sidewalk and a flower bed. Navy curtains draped over the window and above his bed; they were lopsided with the left side being slightly droopier than the right, and dark tassels that lined the bottom of the fabric nearly touched the dark, wooden floor.

Stephen allowed his body to dive into his silky grey bedsheets, his head burying into the soft blue pillows. His room has a theme, it seemed. Blue curtains, pillows, and lamps on either bedside table, grey walls and sheets, and dark wooden furniture, such as the desk in the corner and the bed-frame he rested upon. Nothing more. The walls were bare, his floors naked of rugs, and no surefire signs of individuality; no way to know that it was his room.

He heard his mother call him to help unload the car. 

The first time his name was called, it went right through his ear and out the other.  
The second time, he heard her clearer, but had no intention to leave his bed.  
The third time, he heard his full name and knew that if he allowed her calls to go unanswered any longer that he’d surely be grounded.

So, he hoisted himself up and shuffled back out of the apartment and to the car. He grabbed a large box from the trunk labeled “Kitchen”, this time taking note of the address on the door: 177, the lower level apartment on Bleaker Street. 

That night at dinner, the entire conversation was about school. Their move had been poorly planned considering school started the next day, to Stephen’s utmost disappointment. His mom mentioned that he’d fit right in, and not to worry about getting along with other kids, while his dad reminded him to focus on his work and to get good grades. He hardly paid them any attention, instead opting to play with his pasta, not taking any bites. When everyone was nearly done, he declared he wasn’t hungry and walked back to his room, his legs moving as if he were trudging through a shallow pond or lake, and his arms folded over his slim biceps. 

He climbed into his bed, covering his body up to his neck with his duvet, but not before stripping to his boxers. His eyes never closed, but instead kept their steady gaze on his luggage in the corner of the room. His mind went first, then his body, and then finally, his eyes closed in a forceful shutdown. He’d worry about it tomorrow.

 

He woke to a scream, not too long after dozing off.  
As per usual.

-

Anthony Stark woke to the feeling of his brain being too large for his skull. It was a throbbing sort of pain; the type of pain that comes and goes with the rate of the heartbeat. He was still nestled in his fortress of forbidden sleep, his hair a mess and eyes carrying bags of purple. It also didn’t help, the fact that his phone was blaring at this godawful hour. It was some dumb paid-for ringtone that, at first, Tony found catchy, but now he only found annoying. 

He reached over his fort to unlock his phone and stop the alarm, the natural light shining in through his penthouse windows blinding him. With a groan, he found his way over the pillows and feet steady on the cold floor, still wearing the clothes he wore the day before.

He begun his morning routine, starting off by popping an Advil or two and drinking some bubbling water from his mini-fridge. It wasn’t until he was brushing his teeth, admiring his disheveled look in the mirror that he realized why he had an alarm set for that day.

“Shit,” he mumbled through the foaming toothpaste as he remembered he had school. He spat out the toothpaste and wiped his mouth with a couple more curses, running around his room getting dressed to make up for lost time. 

There was part of Tony Stark that dreaded the school environment. He hated the unnecessary work, standardized tests, and the horrid cafeteria food. But he also loved school. The social aspect of it, at least. He was looking forward to seeing the friends he left behind over the summer.  
Sure, he’d been texting them daily on their group chat, but to see them in person again lifted Tony’s spirits.

As Tony finished getting his outfit together, (a dark gray T-shirt with skinny formal pants, a pair of ridiculous light up red and gold sneakers, some socks that only had the word ‘shit’ repeated as a pattern, and a red overcoat that lung loosely to his hips), he picked up his school bag and headed to school. 

Tony supposed that he would’ve eaten breakfast if it weren’t for the fact he was still actively avoiding his father. With his backpack slung around his shoulder and a quick glance at the kitchen, Tony ran right down the stairs and into the elevator, hitting the garage level button immediately. He felt like a prisoner making their great escape from a brutal warden- which wasn’t too far from the truth. He sighed before he got out of the elevator and into his Tesla. 

Today was going to be long.

Stephen woke to his alarm, too. Well, “woke” isn’t really the right term to describe Stephen’s state. Moreover, he rose from his restless and sleepless night to some song by Jon Bellion. He couldn’t really identify it as the song was over as soon as Stephen hit the snooze button, which considering he was already awake, was fairly fast.

It took him a moment to convince his legs to get up and out of bed; in fact it took him counting to three in his head to even get the will to rise. Despite his difficulty, he did, and lousily walked over to his suitcases. He told himself he’d unload them today, but he was lying and he knew it. Instead, he searched through them one by one and chose a half-assed outfit to make his first outfit of the school year.

Everything ached. As Stephen pulled his lanky legs through each pant leg, he heard his knees pop and his ankles moan. When Stephen rose his arms over his head to wiggle into his sweater, he heard his shoulders crack and squeal. 

“Ow,” Stephen groaned each time a painful noise was heard from his body, protesting his actions. 

By the end of the ordeal, which was much more difficult for Stephen than, he assumed, anyone else, he was left in skintight black ripped jeans, a large maroon sweater with horizontal white lines, some socks with cats on them, and a low-cropped pair of dark vans. He smiled his first smile of the day when he looked in the mirror to see the little sewn in pendant near the heel on his shoe. 

It was a rainbow. Donna gave it to him.  
He frowned.

Before leaving his room, he slapped a watch on his wrist and swung his bag over his shoulder, completing his school look.

He still felt miserable, though. The fact that he was stylish changed nothing about how he felt about the school environment. Hell, school was hard enough as it is, not to mention the fact that he’s a new kid from a small town. He was defiantly going to get teased.

“Damn,” he mumbled to himself as he closed his bedroom door, realizing he’d most defiantly get called gay in the outfit.  
Despite being gay, he hated anything to do with being associated with it. He hated the way he was and he kept it a deep secret; even his old close friends didn’t know. He shook himself out of his pity party and continued down the hall, exchanging goodbyes with his mother, father, and brother.

“Hey, Stephen. Don’t you want to eat something, sweetie? We made toast,” his mom called cheerfully as he turned the knob on the door to leave. She wore a blue apron and was pouring Victor a glass of orange juice.

“No thanks mom, I’ll get something at school,” he lied, quickly closing the door.

He stood for a moment taking deep breaths, his nausea fading with every inhale. His body was trained to do that around food. Part of it upset Stephen; he knew it was wrong and unhealthy. The other part told him he deserved it and that it was just another form of penance for what he did. He glanced back at the golden “117” on the door before taking off to the street, walking to school.

“She would’ve liked it here.”


	2. Tony, Meet Stephen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets Stephen. It doesn't go well, but by the end of the day, the two realize they aren't the worst people they've ever met. When Tony pulls a prank and Stephen can't make it home alone, you know who's going to be there. For better or for worse.

Stephen arrived earlier than most other students, finding his way to the nearest common area and setting his things down before gathering himself. He tried desperately not to think about all the things could go wrong, or the building knot in his stomach, but it proved harder than he suspected. He took a seat in a brilliant green chair, too dull to be chartreuse, but bright enough to be excluded as emerald. He rested his spine on it's padded back, while his arms draped over their rests; his legs crossing, leaving one foot dangling as he sighed.

He filed a steady hand through his hair, slicking it back as it kept resting on his forehead and obstructing his vision. He'd see students walk by him time to time, none ever paying him attention, to his pleasure. That was until a preppy strawberry blonde girl rounded the corner in toe with a stern and intimidating boy. His legs were in tatters, casts covering each calve and his crutched worn from use; Stephen wondered how he got those injuries... couldn't be good. Nonetheless, they found themselves situated in chairs not too far from Stephen, the fair girl helping the boy into his seat. Despite not wanting the attention from either of the teenagers, Stephen had to deal with it, as the girl found herself introducing the pair.

"Hi, you must be new here. I haven't seen you around. My name's Pepper and this is Rhodey," she spoke, her voice and gestures soft and gentle. The boy behind her waved with a smile, Stephen waving back.

"I'm Stephen, nice to meet you," He said, standing from his chair to shake Pepper's hand, "Sorry I was staring, I must be a bit nervous."

Pepper giggled, taking his hand into hers. Her nails, painted a light rust orange, graced his skin as her warm hand enveloped his, "No need to apologize, Stephen! We all get nervous from time to time."

Stephen smiled shyly, not really knowing how to react to her niceties. "Wow, thanks," He chuckled nervously, sitting back down and releasing her hand, "New state, new school, new people, I guess. Psyches me out a bit."

She nodded in understanding, taking her seat next to Rhodey, who had already dug through his book bag and begun reading a book. Stephen could respect that he was a quiet guy, yet something about Rhodey intrigued him. Perhaps it was his crippled state? Didn't matter, he didn't have time to think about it before his stomach twisted inside his body; a warning he'd ignore for now. 'focus on talking, Stephen,' he thought, trying to pull himself through his attack of hunger, 'talk to the pretty girl.'

"You alright Stephen, you kinda spaced out there a bit," Pepper asked, as he completely ignored her question. She had asked a question? Stephen didn't know, but he knew that he had to assure Pepper before they continued talking.

"Yes, I'm fine, sorry," Stephen apologized for the second time to this girl, her poor worried eyes scanning the boy as he adjusted in his seat, leaning into it and relying on it for support, "Like I said, first day jitters."

Pepper didn't really looked like she believed him, but he was glad when she didn't question further. Instead, they shared school schedules and talked about Stephen (much to his disappointment). Rhodey only joined the conversation a couple times, remarking about his family and friends and his feelings about school, but besides that, the conversation was between Pepper and Stephen. 

"Don't worry about classes here, they're all pretty straight forward and you seem like a smart guy," Pepper explained, handing Stephen back his course papers that he expressed worry on, "As long as you put in the effort, you'll do great."

Stephen was just about to respond, thanking Pepper for her advice, but instead, a booming voice came from the PA to which she and Rhodey both perked up at. It didn't sound like a teacher or staff member, and judging by their snickering, Stephen assumed it was a friend of theirs.

"Good morning staff and students! Welcome back to hell on Earth! This is your host, the one, the only, the irresistible- Tony Stark! Before your day starts, make sure to pick up a complementary donut from the teachers office; they are delicious!"  
Before the announcement continued, there was interference on the other end, accompanied by a few sounds of struggling.  
"Thank you and have a great day!" Was the final phrase uttered, spoken very fast, as Tony made his getaway. 

Pepper and Rhodey were laughing their heads off when a frantic boy sped down the hall and made a quick curve into the common area they sat in, finding refuge behind a chair as security searched for him. He was breathing heavily and had a shit-eating grin on his face. When the coast was clear, he made the effort to flop into the chair he hid behind and let out a guffaw.

"Shit," Tony breathed, still catching his breath. Stephen was sure his eyes popped out of their sockets at this point as his nailed dug into the fabric of his chair, "that was great!"

Stephen gave a mortified look over to Tony, who only just now realized the new, and frankly, very shaky boy in front of him.

"Who's new kid?" Tony asked to Pepper who was wiping her eyes from the tears that formed. Stephen looked at her too. Had this happened in his old school, he'd not only get thrown out of the school, but out of the house as well. At least he didn't care about his stomach now.

"Ah," Pepper sighed, looking back at Stephen and resisting the urge to laugh at the sight, "That's Stephen. He's new here."

Stephen had begun to calm himself down from the excitement of the early morning prank. He couldn't help but be a bit intimidated and hyperaware of Tony now. He shifted his body and back to be ramrod straight, allowing himself at least the hight factor against the trickster. He shot Tony a look of dissatisfaction, to which he responded with an angry shift of his brows.

"Not used to the calamity quite yet," Stephen mumbled, never taking his eyes off Tony.

 

A hungover Tony Stark isn't a particularly happy Tony Stark, not to mention the fact that it was the first day of school. He decided to start the school year off with a bang, as as he rushed down the slim halls of the high school to avoid capture, he was more than happy to see a few laughing kids who definitely appreciated it. Hell, Rhodey and Pep were laughing; the two people who usually talked him down from doing that type of stuff.  
But not Stephen Strange.

"Then used to it, pretty boy," Tony snapped at Stephen, already disliking the boy just from the way he looked at him. Tony did not need anyone else giving him that look. His dad and every figure of authority already gave it to him enough.

"Tony, hush," Pepper scolded him. Stephen was amazed at how even when she was being stern, her voice remained calm and comforting. He could appreciate that, but what he could not appreciate was the death glare than Tony was giving him. Stephen was actually glad when Pepper went over to him and hugged him, because for a moment, he saw that anger turn to bliss. Before they broke, Pepper placed a kiss on his forehead and stood up, just in time for the bell to ring. Stephen grabbed his stuff and left quickly enough to not spy Stark eyeing him again.

Looking back at it, Stephen felt bad for looking at Tony that way. He felt like his mom when he broke the window placing baseball with Victor, giving him that disapproving side-eye. He made a mental note to apologize later; making enemies was not on his to-do list for the first day of school, and even if it was, Tony Stark seemed to have the upper hand.

-

Stephen was able to avoid Tony Stark and friends through first period History. That was, until English class came along and rubbed Tony Stark in his face like a bad grade.  
The assigned seats were plastered on the whiteboard, the teacher not being any help to the students in which way the school room was oriented compared to the paper. When all was said and done, Stephen was glad to have taken the foremost front seat beside an empty desk. Stephen liked sitting at the front. It allowed him to be surrounded by less people, get a good vision of the board, and to get a good window seat. The class began the same as the last - with introductions. As student by student piped up with their names and one interesting fact about themselves, Stephen took it upon himself to begin to scribble in his agenda. Well, that was until a large 'bang' came from across the classroom. 

Tony Stark had arrived to class late and had accidentally sung the door open too forcefully. He didn't mean it, everyone could tell by the shocked look on his face, but the teacher, completely aware of Tony Stark's previous actions scolded him and told him to sit in the seat next to, you guessed it, Stephen. Again, Stephen Strange was trying to fool his erratic heartbeat into thinking he was clam. Stephen heard Tony huff before taking his seat, obviously not pleased to have to sit next to the annoying kid that didn't like his prank. Stephen sunk into his seat.

"Continuing on with introductions," The teacher cleared the air with a cough, gesturing at Strange.

'shit,' He thought.

He cleared his throat, "I'm Stephen Strange and-"

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," Tony halted Stephen, to which the teacher rolled her eyes, "Your name is Strange? Like... weird?" He giggled, not even trying to suppress his smile, "How fitting."

"Stark." The teacher growled, only for him to shrug before Stephen continued, now visibly shaking in his seat.

"My name is Stephen Strange and I'd like to become a neurologist so I can help as many people as I can as a doctor."

Stephen half expected Tony to yell 'lame' at the top of his lungs, but instead he sat back in his chair, a sad and longing gaze emitting from his eyes and down to his desk. Stephen wasn't sure what Tony Stark thought of that. To be honest, Stephen Strange wasn't sure what Tony Stark thought at all.

The rest of the class was silent learning. No more interruptions from Stark or Strange. They simply... halted.

-

All students had a maximum of four classes a day. One out of four of those classes was to be held everyday, as a makeshift homeroom of sorts, while the other three fluctuated from day to day. Stephen had realized that he shared three out of four classes with Tony Stark on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, with the only exception being his History course. It was then that Stephen made a mental note to never mess with Tony Stark again.

Lunch came along and before he could really understand what was happening, Pepper had grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to their table. Stephen only recognized three of the eight students that sat along the circular table; Pepper, Rhodey, and Tony, yet had no choice when he was sat next to a very tall and slim figure. They had long, dark hair and wore very dark clothing. Dark eyeliner wings lined with gold liquid liner complemented the symmetrical and pale face that he would soon be introduced to as Loki.

Loki outstretched a hand, to which Stephen took. Up until this point, Stephen didn't think anyone could have colder hands than him, but then again, Stephen didn't think anything that happened today would happen. Gold bracelets hung loosely off of the boy...  
girl?  
Off of their wrists. 

"Pleasure to meet you Stephen," Loki purred, his accent drumming into Stephen's brain and automatically registering it as English. Stephen smiled back at Loki, green eyes to green eyes, yet a rather large and blonde-haired boy soon forcefully draped himself over the pale figure of Loki.

"Yes, what a pleasure!" He boomed, a giant smile on his face.

When the boy opened his eyes, Stephen took note of the rare state of his eyes. Heterochromia, with his right eye being a deep brown and his left being an electric blue. He had a bit of peach fuzz that stretched across his well defined chin and a few freckles that dotted his face here and there. His hair was shaved on the sides in intricate patterns while the top of his hair remained long and tied into a man-bun. Loki groaned from under him.

"Don't be so down, brother! We've got a new companion!"

"Get off of me, please," Loki grunted, "You'll smudge my makeup."

"I'll do it again for you if I mess it up," Thor persisted, a frown masking his smile at his brother's stubbornness.

"Never again."

The group laughed at this and Thor released his brother from his grasp, his arm then being laid upon another boy on the opposite side of him. His nose was tucked into his book, but from above the pages, Stephen could see soft brown curls that littered his head. Thor poked the boys cheek softly and smiled,

"We have a new friend, Bruce. Do say hi."

Bruce quickly shut his book and apologized for being so unobservant, Stephen now getting a better look at the boy. His eyes were framed by thin, round glasses that Stephen found looked a lot like Harry's from Harry Potter. He wore a dark green turtleneck and a purple piece of yarn around his wrist. It was then that Stephen noticed that Thor, the large blonde boy who's personality was close to that of a golden retriever, had a matching one.

"Hello," Bruce murmured.

"Hi," Stephen said back, waving and respecting Bruce for his shyness and awkwardness.

Next to Bruce, a bright red-haired girl bobbed her head to the music that came from her earphones. Pepper apologized for her and introduced her as Natasha. Stephen found the loose curls that bounced with her head to the beat was mesmerizing; it was like they were doing their own dance. Everything about her was immaculate, especially in comparison to the boy who sat beside her. Nearly white-haired and crooked nosed, a boy with several bandages spoke up,

"Hey! I'm Clint," He said, raising his hand and waving. There was an absurd amount of bandages on his fingers that Stephen decided not to comment on.

"Yeah, yeah, now that they've all been introduced to Dr. HotShot over here, can we talk about how lame this school year is going to be?" Tony sputtered, almost like he had been dying to say that the moment Pepper pulled Stephen over. Stephen recognized his place and sat down to eat with everyone else as Tony carried the conversation.

Well... "eat" isn't the correct term. Stephen just kinda sat there and watched as everyone else ate. He instead brought back out his agenda and began to sketch. Stephen did it often, mostly to calm his nerves. His creativity wasn't running too high, so he just decided to doodle everyone at the table. Tony would give him a few glances every so often, but Stephen paid it no mind, and told himself he'd say sorry at the end of lunch.

Well, lunch was at its end and as everyone went to throw away their food, Stephen walked up to Tony.

"Hey Tony. We kinda got off on the wrong foot this morning. I didn't mean to make you feel upset or anything, I was just adjusting to this new environment and... and... I know it's no excuse but I just wanted to say sorry," Stephen stuttered. He wasn't always the best at admitting his wrongs, but something about Tony told Stephen that he should have him on his good side. Or maybe Stephen just wanted Tony to like him? Didn't matter, he just wanted to make amends.

Tony crossed his arms and looked at the ground, "Look, I know you're not a bad guy, and I'm going to level with you here. I was in a shitty mood this morning and I guess I got a little ticked and took it out on you," Tony sighed. Stephen could tell that admitting he was wrong was just as hard as it was for him, "-It was all fun and games at first, for me, at least, but when you started talking in class about how you wanted to be a surgeon to help people? I don't know, It kinda upset me because at that point I realized you weren't some douche and that you actually care for others."

The two stood in silence for awhile while students maneuvered around them to throw away their trash. They stood close, but not too close, each a mirror image of the other; solemn faced and cross armed in defeat.

"I get that," Stephen spoke softly. 

There was another pause.

"Sorry about being so mean. Hey," Tony playfully smacked Stephen's shoulder, pulling out his phone. Stephen verbally gasped when he saw the technology, "Yeah, built it myself. iPhones aren't going to last much longer against the StarkTab," he waved it with a smile, showing off it's screen before turning it back to him, "Give me your number so we can keep in touch."

Stephen smirked, his head tilting as he looked at Stark and how giddy he was to show off his invention. His smile was gorgeous. The way his lips thinned as they stretched to his cheeks, the way his eyes squinted delightfully with pride as he-  
Stop it Stephen.

"Whats the magic word, Stark?" Stephen retorted playfully before his mind could run any longer. Tony looked surprised. Yeah, Stephen could bark back.

Tony grinned, "Magic isn't real."

"Don't be so sure"

-

For once in his life, Stephen found his mind wandering to a million different possibilities of what could have happened, most of which weren't so bad. Many including him leaning in to kiss Tony, some escalated. Some even had them flirting for a bit before eventually asking each other out. However, one thing remained the same with his fantasies and predictions-  
They never ceased to make him so impractically miserable.

School let out and Stephen could not keep his mind off of Tony Stark. Usually when he had so much time to think, he began to feel the pit in his stomach growl with hunger or all the times he failed to succeed or...  
or her.  
And for a moment he thought he could trick his mind into this sick dialog of having some silly crush that overpowers all negativity in his life, but no. That was a facade, that only happens in movies. Sure, he thought of Tony Stark, but when he heard the scream of young school children from a nearby park he couldn't help but register it as a cry for help and not a scream of joy, and when he saw the pond he couldn't help but flinch and... and it all hit him. It hit him over the head with a bag of bricks and then suddenly, one thought overpowered all others.

"I have homework."

"We all do, why are you muttering to yourself like a crazy person on the sidewalk?" Tony asked. Stephen tensed as he was suddenly hyperaware of himself and nothing but himself. His cool yet sweaty hands and their firm grip on his backpack straps, the twist in his gut and the weakness of his knees, the pain in his head. Splitting pain.

"Do you need a ride?" 

It all stopped. He snapped out of it and the world was no longer spinning and distorting around him. All he could see was Tony in his fancy (probably hand built, considering he'd never seen a car like it and factoring in the fact he built his own phone) car stopped at a red light right next to him. That, and the crosswalk sign that said he should probably be walking to cross the street. 

Stephen hopped into Tony's car just before the light turned green, still a bit shaken.

"Yo, Stephen, are you okay?" Tony asked, his voice dripping with concern as he pulled off to the side of the road, first opportunity he got, "Breathe Stephen, Breathe."

Stephen did as he was told and breathed in sync with Tony. He kind of ignored the fact that Tony had him by the shoulders and practically shook him to comply. It took another couple moments before Tony could get anything out of him.

"You look sick. Have you eaten at all today?" Tony asked, realizing that although Stephen was pale, he shouldn't be /that/ pale.

"No," Stephen admitted, too tired to do anything else.

Tony suddenly swung his backpack over from the back seat, rustling through it and finding a snack bar.

"Eat."

-

Tony dropped Stephen at home once he forced the address out of him and scolded him for ignoring his body's pleas for help. Stephen felt like he was getting scolded by his mother, but part of him also really wanted to hug Tony. Hug him because he's the only one who asked that question, offered him help, did /something/.

Stephen laid in bed thanking Tony. Sure, he couldn't hear it, but the thought was there.

"Pepper is probably his girlfriend," He mumbled to himself in the dark, thinking back to that morning. He groaned, shoving his head into his pillow.

'lucky,' he thought.

Stephen Strange drifted into sleep.

Meanwhile, Tony snuck back into his house after avoiding being home until 10. If it weren't for his eyes starting to water with tiredness, he would've stayed out longer, but unfortunately, his body craved his bed and he drove home. Despite being so tired, Tony stayed away until 11:30, or, at least thats when he shot Stephen a text.

| Hey.. don't feel like you owe me one for today or anything. We've all been there. Or, at least I've been there. Anyway, if you're still awake, you're an idiot and should probably take care of yourself. Night Stranger, don't die in your sleep. |

Tony couldn't help but write the last part not only for Stephen, but for himself too. Looking over his bed to see the scattered bottles from the previous night haunted him. He turned back around and shoved himself over so he was laying on his back. Stephen. What was it about Stephen? He wanted to hate him... or if not hate him, ignore him. The way Stephen looked at him that morning? Usually he'd want to punch him; say that he has nothing to prove to him, say that he doesn't care about what he thinks of him, but already, he knew that wasn't the case with Stephen Strange.

Because he /wanted/ to prove himself to Stephen.  
Because he /wanted/ Stephen to think of him in a high regard.  
Because he /wanted/ to care for Stephen.

He was too afraid to take all the words out too soon, but a part in Tony's mind drifted, leaving all reason out and only emotion...

Because he /wanted/ Stephen. 

-

Once again, Stephen woke up screaming.

 

He wasn't alone this time, though.

T: | Hey.. don't feel like you owe me one for today or anything. We've all been there. Or, at least I've been there. Anyway, if you're still awake, you're an idiot and should probably take care of yourself. Night Stranger, don't die in your sleep. |

He smiled.

S: | Thank you. For everything. |  
S: | Stay safe and get some sleep too. |

And for the first time in a very long time, Stephen Strange fell back asleep and /didn't/ wake up screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, this is going in a very different direction than i first thought it would. i have a lot more planned, so stick around.  
> also,, this chapter is like,, 4,000 words so,, i think i've died a bit.


End file.
